As a precocious
product (some might say victim) of the American public school system,
I learned more about the geography of old Mexico from one song than
from twelve years of the best education our tax dollars can buy.
Legendary Mexican
crooner Jose Alfredo Jimenez immortalized the city of Culiacan in his
hauntingly stirring
ballad El Caballo Blanco which recounts a bareback rider's journey from Guadalajara to
Tijuana astride a noble white horse.
In that journey,
rider and horse traversed through Escuinapa, Culiacan, Los Mochis,
Sonora, El Valle Del Yaqui, Hermosillo, Caborca, Mexicali and Rumorosa.
How lyrically poetic and cool are those names?
The name Culiacan, I
found out, has been translated by some sources as "place of snakes,"
as intriguing a city sobriquet as you can have. Culiacan is the
largest city in the Mexican state of Sinaloa with a population of more
than 600,000.
Situated in northwest
Mexico, Culiacan is approximately forty miles inland which is what makes
even more intriguing the name of yet another mariscos restaurant in
Albuquerque.
Mariscos Culiacan sprung up in
seemingly no time at the Sequoia Square plaza in mid-summer 2007,
occupying the suite in which once stood a failed Peruvian restaurant.
Its business card promises "Autentico Sabor Sinaloense" or authentic
flavor of Sinaloa.
In terms of authenticity, no mariscos
restaurant in town feels more like Mexico to me than Mariscos Culiacan.
That means music turned up loud on
tinny speakers competing with the sound of a television blaring.
There's variety in that competition. While the radio plays Norteno
music, characterized by a polka beat created by the accordion and bajo
sexto (a unique 12-string guitar), the television is tuned to a program
featuring hip hop Mexican videos. It makes for a unique, albeit
noisy, ambience.
There
is no air conditioning at Mariscos Culiacan. Instead, large floor
fans and an ineffective swamp cooler do their best to keep things cool
(and thankfully drown out some of the din.
The west wall includes several framed
photographs of Culiacan while another wall features framed photographs
of several menu items. There are no actual paper or plastic table
menus, by the way. A listing of all featured fare is posted above
the order counter and it pays to know Spanish because there are no
English subtitles. Unlike at other mariscos restaurants in the
Duke City, there are also no meat based items on the menu. The
marquee reads mariscos and that's what you're going to get.
There are three squeeze bottles at
each table--mayonesa, ketchup and a bottle labeled "Peligro Salsa Siete
Chiles" which means Danger, Seven Chile Salsa. Unlike some Santa
Fe restaurants which warn tourists of their hot chile then deliver chile
with the potency of tomato sauce, this label means it. This salsa
has the kick of an angry mule. Instead of chips, you're served
five or six tostada shells which most diners break into pieces.
Beverages
are primarily Jarritos and Coke products bottled in Mexico which means
real sugar and really acidic. Soft drink options include
a non-diet version of Fresca, a grapefruit flavored soda which was very
popular in the early 70s as well as a refreshing
manzana (apple) soda. Aguas frescas, not including horchata, are
also available.
Tostadas de Ceviche are
available in three varieties--pescado (fish), camaron (shrimp) or mixto
(a combination of fish and shrimp). Atop a crispy shell are piled
fish and shrimp marinated in citrus juice along with red onion, tomato
and cilantro. Mexican tostadas are not nearly as brittle as their
American counterparts so the entire concoction doesn't come crumbling
down on your lap when you bite into it.
At any mariscos restaurant just about
anywhere, at least one diner at each table seems to be partaking of the
unique Mexican seafood cocktail called the Campechana.
That's the case as well at Mariscos Culiacan.
Served in a large stemmed glass, a
Campechana cocktail includes shrimp, whitefish (or abalone), scallops,
oysters, mussels, baby squid and octopus mixed with diced tomatoes,
onions, lime juice, avocado, Clamato and cilantro.
Campecana
is as murky as some of the water in which the seafood ingredients were
caught, but don't let appearances fool you. This is a fresh and
delicious entree, especially if you douse it liberally with some of that
Peligro salsa. It's sweet, piquant, tart and briny all at once.
If raw, yucky looking seafood isn't
your thing, Mariscos Culiacan can accommodate your preference for all
things fried.
The camarones Costa Azul (Blue
Coast Shrimp) is a very good option.
Six giant shrimp (my
favorite oxymoron) are stuffed with queso Mexicana then enrobed in
Mexican bacon for a taste you'll risk shark-infested waters to obtain.
The bacon is neither too crispy or too flaccid so it wraps around the
shrimp perfectly. The shrimp is sweet and succulent with just a
bit of snap to each bite.
This entree is served
with French fries (out of the bag) and Mexican fried rice with those
crunchy little carrot bits.
